


Candy Magic

by Sanguinifex (Eros_Scribens)



Series: Ruining Holidays [5]
Category: Original Work, Shockfic
Genre: Anal Speculum, Anal Stuffing, Bad Translations, Crimes against Christmas carols, Dildos, F/M, For certain values of..., Inflation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Object Insertion, Satanic Ritual Abuse, Sex Magic, Song Parody, Songfic, Stuffing, Vomiting, candy apples, candy corn, throatfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 14:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_Scribens/pseuds/Sanguinifex
Summary: Tim the Average Dude wakes up in bondage. He's been kidnapped by witches! Whatever are they going to do to him!





	Candy Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Any language mistakes in the "incantations," particularly with regards to Latin, are wholly intentional.

Tim awoke to a terrible hangover and some kind of horrible squawking. He flailed around for his phone—and stopped short, because he couldn’t move. Panicked, and fully awake, he realized that the agonizing noise was some kind of chant.

“On this day the Devil’s born,  
On this day we feast on corn,  
On this day we wear his horn,  
Sing we Samhain’s carol!”

What the actual fuck? Tim struggled to move his arms and legs. His limbs felt heavy and sluggish, but more than that, he was pretty sure he was tied up. Blinking sleep-scum out of his eyes until his vision got less blurry, he turned his head as far as he could, and noticed that, sure enough, his hands were tied to some kind of posts. His head rested on some kind of padded thing, but this was also some kind of restraint—he could turn his head, but not raise it up or down—and there seemed to be two or three feet between his face and the ground. Whatever he lay on supported his chest and legs, but not his middle.

His legs were tied spread. This was not a good sign.

“Help?” Tim croaked. He swallowed hard, a few times. “Help?” he asked louder. “What’s going on? Can someone explain this?”

All he got in response was more of the hellish singing. He wasn’t sure it was entirely in English. Turning his eyes up as far as they could go, Tim made out several vaguely human figures circling what seemed to be a good-sized fire. Not quite a bonfire, per se, but definitely something you could roast marshmallows over and then some. Unfortunately, that did not appear to be what the mystery people were doing.

“Hey! Guys! This isn’t funny!” Tim was pretty sure he’d been drinking a lot last night, but there was no way, however drunk, that he’d have agreed to this. His head hurt, and he needed to pee, and his mouth tasted like stale beer and what he thought might be an approximation of finely aged roadkill.

One of the figures approached him, still singing. They were draped in a lot of ornate fabric, with long hair hanging out from under a sort of hood—wait, was this a woman? Had he been roofied by some chick? Was this some kind of misplaced date-rape revenge?

“Ma’am, whatever you think I did, it’s a mistake. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

The woman smirked, and kept singing.

“Fasse Sklave ahnungslos,  
Da in culo granulos,  
Fill him full, remplir gros,  
Sing we Samhain’s carol.  
Toute hommes fait peril.”

Tim understood exactly eight words of that, and none of them sounded good.

The rest of the witches gathered around Tim, carrying sacks. Full burlap sacks; Tim couldn’t see what was in them.

“Remplir gros, gros, gros,  
Remplir gros, gros, gros,  
Remplir gros, damus nos,  
Sing we Samhain’s carol.”

Tim felt a horrible pain in his anus. Someone was shoving something into it, and cranking it wider. Impossibly wide, he thought, and waited for something to tear, but nothing did. Maybe the thing wasn’t as wide as it felt? Then something else went in, with a sound that was almost like pouring a bag of beans. Whatever it was, it went deeper than the initial foreign object, and then suddenly, something else pushed it much further in. Tim screamed.

The witches were singing again. The lead witch—the one who had first approached him—reached into her sack and began throwing something in the air. Candy corn, he realized, as some of it fell to the ground in front of him. Was that what they were shoving up his ass? It would account for the sound. Meanwhile, the witches poured more of it into what was apparently some kind of ass-speculum, and then shoved it in again. Somehow the pain was less than it really ought to have been, for the sheer mass of the stuff being shoved into his guts (though it still hurt quite a lot). Tim wondered if it was the aftereffects of whatever he’d been drugged with, or if these witches really were magic, somehow.

The lead witch finished tossing candy corn all over the place, and picked a broom. (Really, a broom?) As she approached Tim again, he saw that the end of the handle was not a normal broom handle, but rather a giant carved phallus. Before he could protest, the witch was in his face, cranking the head restraint up until he had to look at her. She pinched his nose until he had to breathe through his mouth, then shoved the wooden phallus in.

Tim gagged. The phallus was coated in something sweet yet foul, and it was thrusting deep into his throat as the witch pumped it, in time to her satanic song. Eventually he vomited all over the phallus and onto the ground. Somehow the puke was rainbow-colored—Tim didn’t remember eating or drinking anything that could account for that—and somehow, none of it got on the witch’s shoes. The witch thrust the phallus down his throat with renewed vigor, and Tim just kept puking.

“We can’t get any more in!” yelled another witch, from behind Tim. “We must start the spell.”

The lead pulled the broom out of Tim’s mouth and raised it aloft. She began singing a new song.

“Cum dulcibus pleno!  
Now sing in fire’s glow!  
Our delight and pleasure  
Lies in amplitudo,  
Expanditur eum,  
Ut ultime caelo,  
Make him greatly grow,  
Cum dulcibus pleno.”

Tim felt a sudden sucking sensation inside him. Suddenly, despite being directly above a puddle of his own puke, he felt hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. When the witches resumed shoving candy corn into his anus, suddenly he welcomed it; anything to fill that gaping void inside him. It still hurt like hell, but the hunger was worse. The witches shoved bags and bags of candy inside him, and Tim slowly felt his stomach bulge down to the ground.

Suddenly the increase of the pressure stopped, and Tim saw the witches dancing again. This time, they were carrying strings of candy apples. After a few more verses of their song, they stopped dancing and began shoving the apples up their captive’s ass.

Tim shrieked in pain and ecstasy as each fruity orb passed through his broken sphincter. Each new weight reduced the yawning emptiness inside him, and finally, as the last apple breached his fundament, he was full. Spent and replete, he passed out.

Tim awoke to a terrible hangover and some kind of horrible squawking. He flailed around for his phone, eventually finding it in his pocket. He was on the floor, in his apartment, apparently not having made it much past the door before passing out. He sat up, turned off the alarm, and dashed to the bathroom. Somehow, he was surprised to see that his hangover puke was an entirely normal shade of vile brown, and smelled like used beer.

On his way to the bedroom, Tim spotted a bag of candy corn on the kitchen counter. Without even thinking, he jumped back from the thing and, when he came to his senses, realized he was hiding behind his coat tree. Tim got up and cautiously inspected the candy. It was a perfectly ordinary bag of candy corn, unopened, just sitting there on the counter. He couldn’t remember buying it. There was no receipt. He had no idea why it had shaken him so badly.

“How much E did I do last night, anyway?” Tim thought, as he headed into his bedroom to sleep off the rest of his hangover.

**Author's Note:**

> The witches' songs are to the tune of a couple of Christmas carols, solely because those are really easy to filk: [_Personent Hodie_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTz_rcolwyA), and [_In Dulci Iubilo_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z24EMr1DKNE).
> 
> Real macaronic (multiple languages in the same verse) songs often are a bit iffy with grammar, and I get the sense that these witches would have used Google Translate. (Which means I had to make it look like Google Translate, even though I actually know Latin well enough that I didn't need to look up any of it. It also made it easier to rhyme things, in a couple places. I'm not as good with German or French, did have to get out a dictionary for that, but if "remplir" isn't an infinitive instead of an imperative like it "should" be, _that's_ a mistake, and likewise I know "fait" is the wrong tense and mood. Pretty sure the German is actually right, except for maybe the gender of "ahnungslos," and I figured that for this purpose, that didn't matter.)
> 
> Also, if you like what you see, hit me up on tumblr at [sanguinifex.tumblr.com](https://sanguinifex.tumblr.com)! If there's something else you'd like to see, I have contact info there.


End file.
